


Oh Look, A Sword

by cannonJavelin (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cannonJavelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Bro Strider. And you must say...</p>
<p>This.</p>
<p>Is.</p>
<p>Stupid.</p>
<p>Not that you can help any of that. Really, it's already happening, why bother fighting it? But you think you should be allowed to complain. At least about how incredibly unironic this is going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Look, A Sword

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for any of the Striders, and I'm honestly not feeling it. It's not HORRIBLE TERRIBLE, but it's not the best. And honestly, considering how absolutely clueless I am when it comes to the irony of the Strider men, the suckage was to be expected. So, sorry if it's more terrible than I thought. But here it is anyways!

Your name is Bro Strider. And you must say...

This.

Is.

Stupid.

Not that you can help any of that. Really, it's already happening, why bother fighting it? But you think you should be allowed to complain. At least about how incredibly unironic this is going to be.

Or is it? You're a bit too distracted right now to think about that. You sort of have a lot going on. You know, irons in the fire...plans and schemes on the drawing table...a sword about to impale you. That sort of thing.

No, stop that. No irony or coolness, or whatever that is. You're dying. You need to focus on the fact that you're about to be very dead, and Dave's about to be alone. You should probably feel bad or worried about that. But you don't. Dave will be fine.

Dave's always fine. You trained him to do at least that. He'll be fine, you'll be dead, and life will go on. Or time. Whatever can go on in this stupid game. 

The blade is a lot closer than it was a millisecond ago. Not that that's surprising to you or anything... Just making observations. 

It's a pretty cruddy sword. He pulled it out of his chest to kill you with it, which sort of makes up for all the cruddy, you think. It's already got some blood on it, you can't tell if that's his or a victim's or both, but it's there. And you don't particularly like thinking about what would happen if you survived being impaled by a sword full of other people's blood. In fact, you don't think you'll be considering that anymore.

You go back to thinking about Dave. You're fairly sure he'll be okay. You trained him to basically function on his own, and even if you don't come back or whatever after this game's over, there's plenty of money from your websites. He should do just fine until one of his friends can come get him. Or the government. 

You don't like that thought at all. You could even say you hate that thought. In fact, you decide to say you hate that thought. You don't want the government, or the police, or even your insanely nosy next-door neighbors getting their grimy hands on your brother. Maybe you should have done something in that stupid will you wrote out to make sure they couldn't do anything with him. Too late for that now.

You try to think about the things you did to ensure his well-being. Trained him to fight; pretty much raised him to be able to eat the minimum if need be; you made sure he'd be able to get a job, even making friends with that idiot at that one club to ensure Dave a place later on. What else? You let him have friends, you think that counts.

Okay, yeah, that doesn't count. That's just you feeling like a cruddy parent. Or brother. Whatever the heck you are to that idiot. 

It wasn't actually part of the plan to die. Though, you may have overlooked that particular part of your plan. It also wasn't part of the plan to die and not be able to say goodbye.  
You practiced how you were going to say goodbye. It was going to be ironic as heck. You even went out and got an insanely crappy camcorder so that you could do it in the grainy, terrible quality necessary for all this. Though, the recordings may have been destroyed when you got transported to the game. You hadn't thought of that.

Oh. Look. The sword is about to hit you. You wonder why everything is taking so long. You could have had your life flash before your eyes twice now if you cared to relive any of that. Wait...There were a few things.

That time Dave ran around the apartment in a diaper and a pair of shades, hitting random smuppets and acting like he was arresting them. Dave's fifth birthday where you made him go to the spa with you, which was nice in a weird way, and he "accidentally" ended up getting his hair temporarily dyed pink. That was pretty awesome, especially when you ended up getting yours died a mixture of hot pink and purple, just for the sake of smirking at the idiots who stared. You sort of wonder if he figured out it was you who made the hairdresser do that?

You still remember the time he tore apart three of your favorite smuppets to sew you a plush heart. He was three, didn't really understand that the fact those smuppets were locked up in a cabinet meant that they were not for touching. But, it's the thought that counts? Besides, displaying a plush heart made of smuppets on your couch is completely ironic. Right? Yeah. It really is.

And there's the blade. It's warm, you guess that's because of the raging fires that are currently..raging...around you. But still, you expected it to at least not feel comfortable in the temperature aspect of things. Or something along those lines. It's also very sharp, and it punctures your chest fairly easily. It hurts, a lot, but you're still a bit numb to think about that.

As the sword slides in, your world goes dark. It's hard not to want to sleep. Blood loss, raging fires, and also a giant blade of doom sticking out of your chest, sort of add up to sleep. So you do that.

You have a half-dream about Dave and you and not being a cruddy guardian, and then you're gone. 

Or he is. The writer supposes that she should break the fourth wall here and mention that...since you...he... Bro is gone, the story is going to just..

Ollie out.


End file.
